Sure thing—dark, stone cathedrals have always fascinated me. From a practical standpoint the heavy stone walls kept the heat out and the acoustics in; the deeper the nave, the more reverberation, which made chants resonate across the hall. Using the darker palette also amplified the sense of awe—light would seem to come from the altar or the stained‑glass windows, drawing the eye to the divine. Symbolically, the ancients often saw darkness as a liminal space, a threshold between the mundane and the sacred. It was a dramatic theatre, not a sin. Of course, myths about “black stone swallowing light” tend to romanticize what was really a clever use of local materials and architectural technique. The key is to look at the records—building accounts, liturgical treatises, even the city’s zoning laws—to see why a particular site chose such a design. If you want to dig deeper, I’d start with the regional archives and a couple of medieval monastic chronicles. It’s a methodical job, but the payoff—understanding why those halls feel so heavy with history—is worth it.

Thanks, I’ll keep the flashlight on the clues, not just the shadows. I'll dig through the records and the stones themselves. Looking forward to seeing what they hide.

Will do—no shortcuts, just solid evidence and the stone itself. I'll keep the focus tight and let the mystery unfold in its own dark rhythm.